You Can Applaud If You Want To
by Chess
Summary: She thinks maybe Adam's life is not a movie, but a play. He needs an audience that will react, not just the blank, popcorn-with-butter stares of a movie audience of teens in expensive sneakers. AU. Claire/Elle, Adam/Hiro, Peter, Monica, Charlie, Matt.


Title from "Evening Wear" by Mindless Self Indulgence.

While "nurse by day, crime-fighter by night" has a really great ring to it, it isn't actually much of a life. Take it from Peter Petrelli, you better believe it. With the hours he has to work, he's damn lucky if he's even _off_ at night, let alone in any sort of condition for fighting crime. On good days, he has time for sleep. On bad days, he doesn't even have time for takeout food. It's a good thing he isn't the only crime-fighter in this city. The thing is, he's having a hard time convincing himself that it's a good thing.

He sighs and pushes the newspaper away. He should be happy that a mysterious trio of superheroes is cleaning up crime in the dead of night, but he can't help being a tiny bit annoyed. _He's_ this city's resident secret superhero, and he doesn't exactly want other people edging in on his territory, for whatever reason, noble or selfish or-

So, yeah. That's basically Peter's life right now. He rubs his eyes. Fucking weird.

"Hey. You've been staring at that newspaper for like ten minutes. What's up?"

Peter looks up. He didn't even hear her come in. Claire Bennet. His niece. She looks like kind of a mess, but she usually does when she has to work late. She's still gorgeous, and that, that is Peter's life. "Ugh," he says.

Claire smiles. "Yeah. Seriously."

Just another day in the life. Peter wants to bang his head on the table.

*

Adam Monroe ducks in out of the rain, black hoodie half-soaked just from the walk from the taxi at the curb. He shuts the door of the electronics shop too roughly, just to piss off the other customers who aren't actually wasting people's time like he is. He loves knowing that he's wasting people's time. He smiles, and looks around for Hiro.

Like clockwork, Hiro looks up from fiddling with something behind the counter and gets caught head-on in Adam's smile. Adam is good. He grins. "Hiro."

"Adam!" Hiro beams back at him, just like every time.

"I need just the tiniest bit of help with something," Adam says, keeping his hood up and hopping onto the counter to sit.

Hiro's smile doesn't even waver, and Adam is delighted all over again. Hiro Nakamura. What a find. He's a genius, too, albeit the stupidest genius Adam has ever met, and that's the beauty of the whole thing. It wouldn't be any fun to play an idiot. Adam isn't just playing, of course. He's on a mission.

"I need some tech," he says.

Hiro shrugs, smiling. "Tech is what I do. What do you need?"

It's so simple that Adam has yet to get over it. There's never been a better plan than this, he's certain of that. Hiro may be a genius with electronics, but Adam is a strategic genius. He also doesn't have those pesky things like morals or a conscience to get in his way. "Well," he says, "To be precise, I want some modifications done on some tech you already have in stock."

Hiro's face falls a little, with an is-that-all expression. Adam loves every second of this, and he loves that he can see exactly how it will go. Hiro thinks Adam isn't issuing him much of a challenge. Adam is going to love proving him wrong.

*

"I don't know," Charlie says in her southern drawl, flipping a hamburger. "It's really not very fair, is it?"

"What?" Claire asks. She's a little distracted tonight, thinking about Elle. She shouldn't have lent her the credit card, but Elle can't get her own anymore, not after last time. Claire sighs. It's one thing to deal with an ex-supervillain and power addict, but when she's also a shop-a-holic and a kleptomaniac? Not very much fun. People should be allowed a maximum of two issues each. Claire wonders what hers would be.

"I mean, you can heal," Charlie says earnestly, snapping Claire out of it. "And Monica's got everything you need to be a superhero. But me? The memory thing? I'm not much good in an actual fight."

"Yeah," Monica says, "But look how much help you've been so far. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't even _find_ half these guys. And we sure as hell wouldn't be any good at analyzing the crime scenes. C'mon, a kid from the ghetto and an ex-cheerleader? What sort of crime-fighting team are we?" She flashes Charlie a grin and turns her headset back on. "Welcome to McDonald's, may I take your order?"

Charlie's frown dissolves. "I guess she's right," she says. "We're all pretty hopeless."

_You don't even know_, Claire thinks. It's hard to focus on dipping fries in grease when she's panicking about Elle putting her in debt and Peter finding out what she's been up to at night.

When they get off work, it's almost midnight, but they still pull on their outfits (stashed in backpacks in the back of the restaurant) and head out into the rain. Claire waves the iPod Touch, a gift from Adam that she still feels a little guilty about owning. "Internet news report," she says. "They found another person electrocuted." She tries really, _really_ hard not to think about how that might have happened. She has to be fair.

"Let's go, then," Monica says, narrowing her eyes.

*

"Matt!"

Matt Parkman turns his attention from his decaf skim latte and spins to scan the parking lot for whoever's yelling. He catches sight of three figures sheltering from the rain under the awning of a good Italian restaurant, and he decides that maybe the day isn't a total bust after all. He hurries over.

"You three again? I've got to stop running into you at crime scenes."

"You'd better stop going to them, then," Flinch says, smiling from behind her classic domino mask. It's a lame, stupid exchange, and they've had it a million times, but it never fails to make the girls smile, so Matt keeps it up. It's nice that at least one thing about these girls is routine.

He sizes them up. The Oubliette, sweet, southern, and redheaded, is wearing a raincoat over her traditional black spandex. She tends to do that, wear shirts or jeans or sensible sneakers so that no one ever sees her in full Catwoman-esque ensemble.

The Arc, shorter than the Oubliette by a little bit, is also wearing all black, but her outfit is a little more stylized, a little more like a superhero costume. There are bits on it that could also be graffiti, but they're done in black-on-black, so it's hard for Matt to tell. It's a tough, thick material, not too tight, and it's actually the most sensible of the three, surprisingly enough.

Then there's Flinch. She stands slightly apart from the other two, like she's either the leader or the disgruntled fuck-up who's on probation with the team. She's wearing the domino (the other two have their faces fully covered), a white-shirt over long-sleeved red t-shirt, sweat pants, and sneakers. He'd think she was just some kid coming home from school if he didn't know it was her costume. It looks like the kind of costume a wannabe superhero makes in her room out of whatever she can find. Maybe that's the point.

"So," he says. "Another one. Electrocution again. Just like two years ago, before the power dampers. I think it's time to talk to Elle Bishop."

The Oubliette and the Arc nod, but Flinch lives up to her name with a sharp little movement and says, "No. I don't think so, Matt. Not yet."

Matt frowns. "Okay. Why do you say that?"

The other two are looking at her like they're wondering the same thing.

She sighs. "For one thing, those dampers are one hundred percent. They're not about to fail. Second of all, if it _isn't_ her, and you accuse her, she'll _lose_ it, and she probably _will_ hurt someone. Trust me, Matt. I know her."

Matt sighs and takes another sip of his cold coffee. "Okay. I can't believe I'm trusting you on this one." If his bosses ever caught on, he'd be fired so fast . . . But these girls who hide their faces and their names have done more for this city in the past few months than Peter Petrelli has done in a year, and he isn't about to ignore their advice.

As they're walking away, Matt hears the Arc say, "You'd better be right about her."

He doesn't hear Flinch's answer.

*

That night, Adam comes to visit, hauling himself in out of the wind and rain. Claire and Peter's friendship with Adam and Elle is something that none of the four expected or understand, but works, weirdly enough. Maybe it's because Claire and Peter were the ones who ended up taking them out long enough to put the power dampers on, but they've been friendly ever since. After all, Adam and Elle weren't the only ones destroying things, they were just the ones who stood out, and Claire and Peter can't blame them for that.

They end up talking, as they often do, about the battle that ended the destruction and brought them together.

"I am sorry, though," Claire says.

Adam shrugs. "Ah, don't be. I'm a better man for it. And I don't think our dear congressman is doing us a favor, honestly, even if I would have thought so back then." He catches Claire's expression and says, "Oh, don't look like that. It's not the same as brainwashing. It's just like being locked up in jail, only I get to walk around and eat terrible American fast food and buy iPod minis and see the error of my ways _properly_."

Claire isn't sure that's exactly what was bothering her, but she doesn't say anything. She wonders, though, if the real problem is that people _don't_ see the error of their ways so easily. She trusts Adam, she has to, but she knows him and Elle well enough to see that the power dampers don't cure people, they just turn off their powers so they have to find other ways to do damage. The problem is, with the dampers on, the people they end up damaging are themselves. She doesn't want to see Elle max out another credit card and she doesn't want to see Adam screw up, either, although she isn't sure what sort of damage he'd be capable of.

He reaches out and taps her nose. "Cheer up, Claire-bear."

It's a struggle not to flinch. Her dad was the only one who called her that, and since he died, she hasn't wanted to even _think_ the words. "Don't," she says.

"Sorry." Adam holds up his hands. "Accident."

She wonders if it is. She's spared the trouble of thinking about it, though, by Peter's arrival with a slightly damp paper bag of Chinese food. "Hey," she says, wanting to turn away from the relief in her voice. Adam is a friend, and she's not being fair.

"Hey, Claire," Peter says, smiling his lopsided smile. "Hey, Adam."

Adam smiles. "About time you took a day off, friend. Look at you. Dark rings around your eyes and everything."

"My best feature," Peter says, tossing Claire the bag.  
**  
**Claire's not so sure he's wrong. She catches the bag and is surprised to find that the weight of the catch hurts her arm. She must have a piece of glass or something embedded in it from some street fight with a petty criminal. She doesn't let Peter see her flinch and she even bites back a laugh at the irony of the word.

"Chinese again?" Adam asks, prizing the bag away from Claire with deft fingers. "Must you really?"

Peter glares. "Hey, no one invited you."

Adam shoots a glance at Claire, and Peter sighs. Claire may have told him that he was always welcome at their place. She isn't sure exactly why she wants to be friends with someone like Adam, but she's learned to be more forgiving since her father's death, oddly enough. It's not as though Adam was directly responsible, in any case.

He smiles at her. "Would you like a noodle?"

She sighs and takes it. "Thanks."

"My pleasure."

She often wonders how he can talk so much and say so little, but she's still giving people the benefit of the doubt, even people who've done what Adam did. If she doesn't, she can't do this, can't pull her punches or stay out of gun stores.

*

That night, Matt dreams about an explosion. It rocks the city in his mind's eye, breaking buildings apart and tossing people into the air.  
**  
**Then the city is crackling with electricity from the silhouette of a screaming Elle Bishop. Then he's moving in closer and closer to Adam Monroe until he's falling into Adam's eye, too close, too human, and there are explosions there, too-

It looks like something from a bad action movie, but he wakes up sweating and fighting a headache.

_It was just a dream_, he tells himself, and he knows that people always tell themselves that. He's not used to dreaming in metaphors, though, and this feels different. _Someone is having a bad thought_, he thinks, and then he immediately wonders why he thought it. He's had dreams like this before, off and on in his life, ones that come uncomfortably close to reality, or to other people's minds. He's just a cop, though, and he doesn't want to hurt anyone, and the dreams feel dangerous.

This time, though, he's going to ask someone questions, and it's not going to be Elle Bishop.

*

The next day is beautiful and sunny and even though Adam is tired from staying far too late at Peter and Claire's apartment, he's in a good mood. As usual, they very carefully did not ask him to stay the night, and he wonders if they know that he's noticed. It's the little gestures, really.

Right now, he's sitting on a high stool at the table in Hiro's kitchen.

"And after this," Hiro says, "a _movie_." He beams at Adam, clearly delighted with himself.

Adam wonders what he thinks he's accomplished. A normal date, perhaps? Well done, Hiro. He gives Hiro a golf clap in his head and takes another sip from the cup with the Jedi on the side. "A movie," he concedes.

At the movie theatre, Hiro is even excited enough about the movie to turn off his gorgeous iPhone. He also holds Adam's hand while they order tickets, while they order popcorn and candy, and while they're sitting down. Adam tries to no avail to shake him off the entire time.

"It's what couples do," Hiro tells him accusingly, once they're safely seated in the back of the theatre.

"It's not what I do," Adam says. He wonders if Hiro thinks he's got closeness issues, and if so, whether or not he's convinced that they stem from his bad childhood. He almost giggles thinking about it. He hopes so. Then again, Hiro _isn't_ an idiot, as he has to remind himself constantly, and he is going to have to be careful how he plays this. Hiro is already narrowing his eyes slightly, but luckily for Adam, the previews begin, Hiro tightens his grip on Adam's hand, and disaster is averted.

Halfway through the movie, Adam gets bored with the explosions on the screen and decides to kiss Hiro. When Hiro pulls away, complaining that he's trying to watch the movie, Adam smirks and says, "It's what couples do."

"Not when they're watching an awesome movie," Hiro says firmly, and Adam sits back, frowning.

It's pretty clear how this thing is going: Hiro gets to call all the shots, and Adam is just going to have to lie back and suffer. He may be getting free iPods and the necessary tech for his plan in return, but he'd much rather have a fun relationship into the bargain. If he could build a life at the same time as moving his plan ahead, he'd be much happier.

When something else on the screen explodes, though, he starts to feel better. Soon. Soon all of New York will look like that, a big ball of red and orange and destruction.

When the movie is over, Hiro is still attached to Adam's hand. "I don't know," he keeps saying, "I don't think the villain had enough motivation."

Adam is having a really hard time not to laugh around Hiro these days. He's so perfect and so perfectly ludicrous. He's fueling Adam's sarcastic inner monologue like no one else. He wonders idly if Hiro would object to his lack of motivation. It's not madness after all, not even that cheap plot-device. He's just very old and very bitter, and the cuff on his wrist is doing nothing to assuage his need to see a real explosion.

"Should we go back to my place?" he asks Hiro. That would be brilliant right now. The perfect ending to the perfect day.

Hiro hesitates just the right amount before nodding. "I'd love that."

Adam's place is impeccably neat, just like his accent and his hoodie. He hopes it makes Hiro nervous. "Have a seat," he says, indicating the perfectly white couch.

Hiro sits, bouncing a little, nervous.

_Yes,_Adam thinks, and kisses him. He'll make sure there is no fade-to-black this time.

*

Peter flies through the city that night, using his enhanced senses to keep an eye out for crime. He tells himself that he's not keeping an eye out for the trio of superheroes who are upstaging him, but he can't help circling twice around the areas they've been seen most recently. He finds himself flying closer and closer to Nathan's office tower, too, and he thinks about what he ought to say to Nathan about the new legislation.

It's been three years since Peter and Claire discovered that they had superpowers, two and a half years since they met, two years since Claire's family got killed, and one year since the ones who were misusing their powers got shut down. Peter's life ought to be straightening itself out by now, but it's really not. He owns the little apartment with Claire where they eat dinner and go to work and try not to panic at each other, but that's about it.

New York would be easier all around if Nathan had never been elected to Congress. Worse, he's in the process of trying to get this really creepy legislation passed, stuff that sounds good to anyone who didn't know what was going on up until a year ago.

See, two years ago, there was a bomb. He didn't mean to be a bomb, though, and he's very sorry, you can take his word for it. The right people stopped him, though, and someone else took the heat. (No one's seen Sylar since, and Peter doesn't think about him if he can help it.)

In the year after the almost-bomb, things got even worse, because that's when Adam Monroe escaped. The first Peter heard of it was when the murder of Robert Bishop was all over TV.

Three weeks after that, he met Elle.

When Elle, Adam, and the others went rogue, the damage they caused was almost enough to devastate New York. Between Adam's madness and invincibility and Elle's angry, hurt sparks, they were formidable, and it was only luck that brought them down. Luck, and Peter.  
**  
**Then came the power dampers.They were the most permanent solution to these so-called supervillains that anyone could think of at the time, and they stuck. It wasn't execution or jail-time, just a power-damper, and that was somehow good enough for people. The originals included a liquid component, some sort of cocktail of drugs. When that proved too easily smashed, the entire thing was made electronic.

And now, there's this new legislation that's going to overturn all that. Nathan is calling the power dampers inhumane, and Peter isn't so sure that he's wrong, but he _knows_ that letting Adam and Elle hurt people again is inhumane, as much for their sake as for the sake of civilians.

Peter finally gets up the courage to swoop to a landing outside Nathan's building, and of course Nathan will still be here, shuffling papers like he's actually interested in them. Peter looks up at the bright, looming building in the dark, and he wonders if he's supposed to feel like a stupid like kid when he's standing here.

He shakes himself and goes inside, making his way up to Nathan's office. There's a light on, so Peter pushes open the door. "Nathan."

Sure enough, Nathan looks up from his desk where he's silhouetted against the glass of the windows. "Pete." He sounds as pleased to see Peter as he always does and never is. "Hey, glad you stopped by. I have something for you."

That could mean anything, and Peter doesn't really want to find out what. He won't let Nathan derail him. "We need to talk about that legislation you're introducing," he says, surprised that his voice isn't coming out shaky and young.

Nathan stands up, shaking his head and straightening his lapels. "Always the little stuff, Peter. Try to focus, will you? Have a seat."

Peter knows Nathan is feng-shuiing the room, if by feng-shui you mean "doing things that will make Peter feel the most uncomfortable and make Nathan feel the most powerful." He doesn't argue, though, he just drops into the soft leather chair in front of the desk.

"Here," Nathan says, coming around the desk and holding something out to him.

"An iPod," Peter says, incredulous. Does Nathan really think he's that easy, that stupid, that _young_? Does he think he can just blow Peter off with an piece of expensive tech that's not even _good_ for anything? Peter sees that the thing's turned on, and he puts one of the earbuds in to listen. "Please keep the crowd under control," the song blares in his ear. He doesn't let his expression change. Nathan is good at sending all the wrong messages, and Peter has never been good at being a press-conference superhero. He's never even come close. He wonders if Nathan would like him better if he were.

Upon closer inspection, it turns out that it's not an iPod, it's an iPod shuffle. Even better. Nathan knows that Peter knows that this iPod cycles through songs randomly, allowing the owner no control over the choice of music. Maybe it's not a metaphor for what Nathan wants Peter's life to be, but he's pretty sure it might be. Maybe Nathan is Peter's iPod shuffle.

Nathan's hand falls on Peter's shoulder, just where his neck begins to curve upward. The same old spot, the same old gesture, but with a new meaning, a new heaviness behind it. Peter suddenly doesn't have time for that, though, because he hears a siren blare out there, too close, and where there are sirens, there's a need for him to make a quick exit from reality. He shifts in his seat.

"Ah, Pete," Nathan says. "What, you don't have time for me?"

Peter shrugs off the way Nathan's thoughts always keep pace with his own and focuses instead on how he's going to get out of here. Not having time for Nathan is a dangerous game, because Nathan can deal with hatred, but not with dismissal. Tell him he's not important (_not special_, Peter thinks) and he goes taut and dangerous. Peter has all the danger he needs waiting for him outside; he doesn't want to deal with it before he even locates the emergency.

"Sure," he says after what he realizes is too long a pause. "I have time for you." It comes out hollow, though, and he wishes he could force sincerity into his voice. When he means something, he _really_ means it, but when he doesn't . . . He used to always have time for Nathan. Maybe this is growing up, or at least growing _healthier_.

Nathan frowns. "Go. But don't forget you iPod."

Peter wants to swear at him, but he doesn't.

*

"Elle's been engaging in retail therapy again," Claire says, leaning over the counter to grab a wonton.

"Yeah?" Peter says, wondering if he cares. He seems to, which is really upsetting, not because he's normally heartless, but because it's _Elle_. It's late, and the crime was already over by the time he got there, and Elle is the last thing he wants to deal with.

"Yeah."

"And you're worried?" _Peter_ is worried.

Claire nods. "Kinda."

Before they can continue the discussion, though, Elle twirls in, wearing what is clearly a brand new outfit: blue hoodie, black and white leggings, mini-skirt, pair of Converse. "Hey hey," she says.

Peter glances at Claire. "So I see."

"So," Elle says, "basically, I'm staying the night." She does that sometimes, for long stretches of time when she's managed to lose her own place somehow, and Peter isn't allowed to argue.

"Come on," Claire says, frowning. "Let's get you some pajamas."

When she comes back into the room five minutes later in blue pajamas that match the sparks that used to come from her fingers, Peter wants to slap her. If he were someone else (Nathan) he probably wouldn't have such an uncharitable impulse, but she's like a kitten who gets away with murder because she's adorable.

She bats her eyes at him. "Hey, Petey."

That's one thing he'll say for Elle: she doesn't upset people on purpose. When she started calling him Pete, he snapped at her to stop, and she's called him Petey ever since. It's annoying, but it's harmless.

"Hi, Elle." He even moves over a little to allow her room on the couch. She perches with her feet tucked up under her like she's five years old. He's started, against his will, to sort of think of her as a little sister whose bad habits he has to indulge. Maybe that's exactly what he needs: one good sibling. He sighs. Even his good sibling is a pop-rock murderess.

*

Among Elle's bad habits (and she has a total of eight, not counting smoking, which she's only tried once or twice) is her tendency to pretend she's in a movie. It might fit into the broader category called "being out of touch with reality," but she's not sure that counts as a habit, so it doesn't get to be on the list. At any rate, she spends a lot more time than she should casting the various people in her life (Claire would be Miley Cyrus, Peter would be Josh Hartnett, she'd be Kristen Bell), anticipating the script, and, most of all, overplaying everything for the cameras.

The movie of her life has no plot and too many special effects. It's just a pop-culture saturated collage of iPhone ads and brand name shoes carrying models away from digital explosions. Elle doesn't remember what real feels like, but then again, maybe she never knew. All she remembers is a lot of labs, and then blue, blue, blue and her dad being dead, and then Claire and Peter affixing the power damper to her wrist and telling her she had a whole new life just waiting. Turns out her new life is kind of shitty and lame.

She lives with Peter and Claire, although they don't exactly know it. Her apartments are just temporary vacations from home. She's been annoyed, though, in the last three months or so, because something has changed. She and Claire used to be like _this_, you know? But now Claire stays late after work, and Elle isn't allowed to play crime-fighter with the other girls. Oh yes, she knows _alllll_ about that. Elle knows a lot of things.

The soundtrack to her movie is trashy as the rest of it. It's full of little puns and inside jokes and Ashlee Simpson. _They say I get away with murder_. Little Miss Obsessive indeed. She's been called worse things by the people in her life, people like Peter and Claire.

Then there's Adam, who is friends with her because he's friends with Peter and Claire, not because the two of them worked together back before the power dampers. Elle barely remembers that.

She thinks maybe Adam's life is not a movie, but a play. He needs an audience that will react, not just the blank, popcorn-with-butter stares of a movie audience of teens in expensive sneakers. Maybe it's because he's English.

Elle has always wondered why movie crowds sometimes applaud at the end. There's no point. No one can hear them.

*

The next morning, Peter has a headache. Elle played her music at top volume late into the night, and when he got up and tried to stop her, Claire met him in the living room with a glare. Now he's exhausted and getting ready for an eight-hour shift at the hospital. "It sucks," he tells Claire over breakfast.

"Okay, you giant baby," Claire says.

"It's not just that." He glares at the newspaper. Another death. Electrocution. "Claire, you can only ignore this for so long." He waves the paper at her.

Her eyes flash. "The last thing I've been doing is _ignoring_ it. But I swear, it's not her."

"Why not?" he says, getting angry now. "It's been her before. She's got a lot of issues!"

"I'm just saying that you can't _blame_ her for being a little screwed up!"

"And _I'm_ just saying we can't trust her," Peter snaps.

"Who?"

"Shit," Claire says.

"Elle." Peter inclines his head toward her a little. "We were just talking about you."

She puts her hand on her hip, self-conscious as ever in her pose. "About me? You don't trust me? And why not, exactly?"

"You've got to admit you're not exactly making a great case for yourself," Peter says. "People turn up scorched to death and you expect us to blame . . . who, exactly? Tell me, how long has the power damper been malfunctioning?"

"They've been malfunctioning for three months, and now it's all over," she says sharply, and she walks out.

Peter looks at Claire. "They?"

"Peter, you _idiot_," she says, shoving him against the wall. "It's not her! We've been tracking the person for months, and it's _not her_."

"Sorry, what?" Peter says, because he's obviously missed something pretty vital here. "Who's 'we?' And what do you mean you've been tracking them?"

Claire takes a step back, small and furious and a little disdainful. "God, Peter, did you think you were the only one? That you were special?"

He wants to say it was never about being special, but he can't get the words out.

"Well, you're not," she says. "Other people can actually use their powers to help people. And that's what we've been doing."

Peter should have seen. He shouldn't have been such a dick. Too fucking late. "So, uh, who's 'we'?" he asks again, quietly.

Claire sighs. "Monica and Charlie. The Arc and The Oubliette. And me."

Peter bites his lip. "Okay," he says, "Okay. I'm sorry. I really am."

"I know," Claire says, but she doesn't exactly sound like she's forgiven him. "It doesn't matter right now. Right now, we need to find Elle, because I think whoever's doing this is getting ready to do something big."

Elle is always Claire's priority, and Peter isn't sure that she's what they should be focusing on right now. He'd rather focus on Claire, who still hasn't told him the whole story. "Wait," he says. "Just a sec. Before we go rushing off, I think maybe I should know your superhero name." He gives her a little smile.

She frowns for a second, but then she catches his smile and rolls her eyes. "Yeah. Okay. I call myself Flinch."

It's a strange choice, maybe sarcastic or defensive, but all Peter says is, "Well, Flinch, have you got a costume?"

Claire laughs. "You bet I do. Want to see?"

"We can't fight crime without it."

While Claire is changing, Peter absently pulls out the iPod Shuffle from Nathan and presses the on switch. He tunes the song out until a few words catch and jangle in his ear. "Everybody wants to be the bomb, but once you are the bomb, the innocence is gone . . ." Peter blinks and pops the headphones out of his ear. To assume that Nathan chose songs on purpose to upset him is nothing short of paranoid, but then again, he doesn't really see Nathan listening to screaming rock without an ulterior motive.

He picks the headphones back up and listens to the song from the start. He checks the title. "Evening Wear." Damn if he's going to be dressed in it. He won't play Nathan's game. "It's not fair to be compared to you," the song tells him. Is that how Nathan sees him? A stupid kid who's scared he won't measure up to his so-much-better big brother? He'll pass. He's a goddamn _superhero_.

"Dressed down until I disappear," the song continues. He shuts his eyes and hits skip. The iPod shuffles to a soppy love song, and Peter feels sick. Catching flies with honey. He tosses the iPod down on the bed.

Claire comes back into the room in her costume, and Peter is distracted from the tinny music still blaring from the discarded headphones.

*

Elle's legs are crossed on the cheap red plastic of the Burger King booth's seat. Adam's ankles are crossed under the table. He's tapping his fingers on the edge of the tabletop like he's waiting for something.

If Adam is Armani, then Elle is AE, but she's seen him in hoodies, and she's not about to let him play sophisticated adult to her dopey teen. She is no longer either dopey or a teenager (even if she knows all the right slang), and she doesn't appreciate Adam forcing her into the role. He may think he can pull off classy, sarcastic British supervillain, and maybe he's right, but if that's true, he needs to stop going on dates with Hiro Nakamura. Classy it is not. As for Elle, she's never owned an iPod, and even if that makes her angry, it also makes her wrong for the role he's visualizing her in.

Adam holds out his hand, palm up. There's a tiny metallic-looking device resting right in the center, with a blue light flashing rhythmically on one side. Elle instantly knows what it is. "That'll deactivate the power damper," she says in a voice that doesn't sound like her own.

"Right in one," Adam says, smiling. "The question is, do you want it?"

Elle has wanted it, _dreamed_ about it for years now, the way an ex-junkie dreams about heroine or crack. There's a difference, though, between wanting to use her powers again and wanting to actually take the device, use it, and deal with the fallout. She should know better.

"Come on, princess, don't waste my time," Adam says. His voice is still silk-smooth, though, maybe because someone warned him to watch his tone around Elle. She's getting a little tired of being the subject of warnings.

She glances toward where the camera would be if this were a film. "Only supervillains have a gimmick," Claire teased her, back when Elle first mentioned the movie thing. It wasn't funny then and it's less funny now, with the little device in Adam's palm blinking up at her with its blue light. It reminds her of her own eyes, or of lightning. It reminds her of the Popsicles she never had when she was a kid. She shakes her head. "I don't know," she says.

Adam laughs, a little incredulously. "You don't _know_? All that dramatic staring and you still don't know? Come now, Elle."

Come now. Practically no one can pull that off, and she doesn't think Adam can. She isn't sure, though, because she can barely focus over the static crackle in her ears that makes her think of the way the power cables behind the TV sparked and gave out one day and made Claire and Peter suspect her for weeks of doing it because she didn't get her way when they fought about what show to watch.

Claire and Peter do a lot of things like that.

Elle takes the device.

The soundtrack to her movie is songs about betrayal. It is "Stab My Back" and "Too Little Too Late" _i could be good, and i would_ and "3 Small Words" and "Dark Side of the City."

"Hey," Adam says as she's walking away.

"Yeah?"

He tosses her something. She looks down at it. "An iPod nano?" she asks.

He's already gone.

"Thanks," she says.

*

When the apocalypse comes, it's almost perfect.

Adam has the whole thing planned, every last detail, right down to the outfits. He's spent almost a year setting the whole thing up, planning it to an almost obsessive degree. Even Nathan has started raising his eyebrows when Adam comes around with an armful of papers covered in blueprints and fingerprints and designs for leopard-print spandex.

"No," Nathan says at one point. "Turn around and go right back where you came from, and don't come back until you've calmed down. This isn't a supervillain's secret plan, Adam."

Adam frowns and leaves and behaves, but he privately thinks that Nathan is wrong. At any rate, the plan is perfect, and every detail is in order. The end of the world, as obsessively planned as a sweet-sixteen party.

After handing the last iPod off to Elle, he pops in the earbuds of his own iPod mini and makes his way to Nathan's office. "Congressman?" he demands before shoving his way in without knocking.

Nathan is sitting with his back to the door, chair swiveled toward the massive window and the cityscape. If this were a film, he'd turn out to be dead. "It's ready," he says, because drama is never out of place.

Nathan swings the chair around. Not dead, then. "Good," he says. "Now, how do you want to play this?" His fingers brush the surface of his iPod.

"Oh, I'll let it play itself," Adam says breezily. His heart is racing, though, with anticipation to see how this unfolds. "I'm just the observer." He knows that's not strictly true, but it's safer than admitting he's the main villain of the piece, because the villains never end up well. Then again, maybe Nathan is the villain.

"Fine," Nathan says. "I'll see you when it's over."

Adam salutes and heads back out into the night.

When the apocalypse comes, it's almost perfect except for the part where it doesn't work.

*

Elle takes a taxi (_to the dark side of the city_, her brain supplies to finish the lyric) and plays with the new iPod.

"Nothing I say is wrong," a song tells her, and she smiles. She's heard worse philosophies.

She snaps her gum. The city outside is indeed dark, and although she can't hear it through the music, she knows it's loud, too. She wants the snap of her gum to be louder.

"I'm alienating my audience," the singer screams, "one fucker at a time."

Elle thinks about Adam and about plays and movies and music. She thinks about Claire and Peter and electricity. Maybe it's time for a plot twist. She carefully sets her iPod down on the floor of the taxi and digs the too-high heel of her shoe into it until it cracks.

*

Late that night, Elle finally comes back to Peter and Claire's place. Claire is out at work, or maybe out playing superhero, Peter isn't sure. He isn't mad anymore, though. He can't be mad at her. He'd rather he wasn't left alone to deal with Elle, though.

When she bursts through the door, her eyes are bright and strange, and she's practically frantic. "Peter," she says. "Hey, what's up? I mean, I'm not mad anymore. I don't think you _should_ trust me. I mean, I screwed up a lot without the power damper. I mean . . ."

Peter grabs Elle's shoulders. "Elle, what's wrong? What happened?" Possibilities flash through his mind: maybe she's on drugs, maybe she's in real trouble, maybe . . .

Elle looks up at Peter with empty blue eyes. "Tell me I'm special."

Peter has heard dangerous words like that before, from Adam and Sylar, and he's not ready to admit that Elle is just as addicted as Adam. The dampers work perfectly, though, unless you could override them somehow**, **and then he realizes--

Adam. It's been Adam all along.

"Shit," he says. "Elle, I need to call Claire." He grabs the phone and does so, trying to keep an eye on Elle, who keeps moving around the room, picking things up and putting them down.

"Peter?" Claire says as soon as she answers.

"Yeah. Elle's back home. I think . . . Look, I was wrong. She's not the one electrocuting people. It's someone trying to make it _look_ like it's her. And I think it might be Adam."

Claire is silent for a second, but that's all. "Okay," she says. "Okay, I think you're right. And I think he's planning something else. He told me he was seeing Hiro Nakamura. Do you know who that is?"

Peter is shocked. "What? The guy who came up with the tech behind the dampers?"

"Uh-huh. And Adam's been going on dates with him. I'm guessing he got his damper turned off, because he can do _anything_ without it. He's indestructible."

"Yeah, but so are you," Peter says with a surge of pride. He has a sudden urge to get moving, get _fighting_, go to battle. He feels bad about it, because he shouldn't miss something that bad, but it was nice feeling useful, and once in a while is okay for an apocalypse.

"Right," Claire says. "I'll meet you later. I'm checking up on Nakamura. Someone had better warn him."

"See you later," Peter says, and he hangs up. When he turns back to Elle, however, she's gone.

*

He opens the door, and Claire pauses. She hadn't expected him to look like this, young and round and wide-eyed. Then again, maybe that's the only type of person Adam could trick. He's good at what he does, but he's not exactly subtle, and this kid looks like he doesn't require subtlety to fool him. "Hiro," Claire says, ready to be full of disdain.

Hiro blinks at her. "Yes? Do I know you?"

"I'm Claire." She doesn't use her last name anymore. "And you're Adam's . . . friend. Well, guess what? Your friend isn't so great after all. He's been hurting people, and he's about to hurt a lot more, and we need your help to stop him."

Hiro blinks again, sharply, before saying, "Yes, I know that."

Claire is floored. "What? But you can't! You're just some dumb kid, you don't know what he's planning!"

Hiro sighs and pushes up his glasses with his middle finger, a gesture Claire feels is probably intentional. "I am not 'some dumb kid,' Claire Bennet. I know Adam's plan. I have known for some time."

"Then you're working with him voluntarily," Claire says, narrowing her eyes and taking a step back. It's unexpected but not completely shocking. Adam is good with words, and Hiro wouldn't be the first innocent person he's swayed to his side.

"No." Hiro shakes his head almost violently. "Everything I've done has been in order to stop him. It's a very, very intelligent plan. You wouldn't understand."

Claire ignores the sting and says coldly, "But people have died. You knew he was the one frying people and you didn't do anything to stop him. Why?"

"Why?" Hiro glares at her. "Why does the maniac Elle Bishop roam the mall like a hungry ghost? Why is she free? She has done damage of her own, Claire Bennet. And you let her. Why?"

Claire is very, very quiet. Finally, she says, "Because I love her." It does not have to mean romance, and she and Elle are hardly romantic people, no matter how hard Elle tries to fake it. But she does love Elle, the way a mother loves a child who throws rocks at birds.

"And I love Adam," Hiro says, nodding. "But don't misunderstand what that means. I'm willing to take him down. Does he think I can't? I _designed_ the tech that he's using. And I'm a better actor than he ever was."

Claire opens her mouth in what is about to be a laugh, but she's cut off by Peter's arrival. He jogs up like he's been running all the way, flushed and out of breath.

"So," Hiro says when Peter gets to the door, "Peter Petrelli. The brother of the Congressman."

Peter glares at him like that's the last thing he needs. "No," he says. "Claire, listen, Elle is gone. She left while I was on the phone with you."

Claire feels herself go cold with fear, because _anything_ could happen to Elle out there, and Peter may not trust her, but Claire doesn't trust the rest of the world. "Let's do this fast, then," she says.

Hiro nods. "Let me explain, then. I think Adam is planning to set off a bomb."

"A bomb," Peter says. "Of course."

"Just like old times," Claire returns with a grimace.

"Yes," Hiro says, "And he has everything in place to act. I have reason to believe he will strike tonight. With important people in Congress backing him, he'll get away with it, too." He glances briefly in Peter's direction.

Claire squeezes Peter's hand and doesn't meet his eyes. "The question is," she says, "what tech triggers the bomb."

Peter stiffen. "The iPods. Made by Hiro, without him realizing what they were for. Or maybe he did realize, I'm not about to give him credit." He gives Hiro a look. "Specially wired to go off at a certain time."

Claire pulls out her iPod Touch very slowly. "Are you sure?"

Hiro nods. "Peter's right."

"Yeah," Peter says, frowning. "And Nathan gave me an iPod. He said . . ." He blinks. "He said that the legislation was just the little stuff. He warned me to focus on the iPods."

Claire feels a little surge of anger. "And we're supposed to be, what, grateful for that? Whose side is he _on_, anyway?" She finds herself annoyed that Peter didn't _mention_ the fact that Nathan gave him an iPod and even more annoyed that he kept it.

"I don't know," Peter says softly. "It's so hard to _tell_, with him. If he wanted Adam stopped, you'd think he wouldn't have given out loaded iPods."

"Yeah," Claire says, "Or maybe he was trying to take Adam down from the inside. Trusting us to figure it out."

"And he'd be a hero," Peter says. "Just like last time. He's insane, you know that?"

"Or at least he's selfish," Hiro says. "He lives in the city, too. And explosion going off under this leadership looks bad all around."

Claire shakes her head. "I don't think it matters. Even if he _did_ want us to take Adam out, he still helped him. We're still taking Nathan down."

"But wait," Peter says, turning on Hiro, "If you set up the iPods, if you _made_ them, why can't you just turn them off?"

Hiro shakes his head. "I can't. He may have put in failsafes. For all I know, they're wired to set off the bomb if they're destroyed. I don't know that, of course, but we can't be too careful. I need to get some my deactivation tech together, just in case. I'm glad I don't have to do this on my own."

"Let's meet on the roof of our place in a half hour, then." Claire says. "We'll find Adam, and we'll stop him." If she just makes it that simple, everything will be okay, and maybe Elle will turn up along the way.

Hiro nods and tosses Claire something. "Oh, and you'll need this. Activates the power damper."

Claire clenches her fist around it.

After they get home and Claire puts on her costume, they wait on the rooftop, the wind ruffling Claire's hair around her mask.

Peter takes a step forward, almost teetering on the edge of the roof, and it's the _wrong_ roof, it's just the top of their crappy New York apartment, and maybe they can't do this. "Hey," Peter says. He reaches a hand out to her. "C'mere."

Claire shakes her head, because she knows what's coming next, but she steps toward him anyway and takes his hand.

"We might make it," Peter says, pulling her close, "but we might not." His hands are warm.

When he kisses her, her eyes are already shut, and it's awkward and awful and they break apart after a second.

"It's the end of the world as we know it," Claire says, "and we're still bad for each other. That should be a clue."

Peter nods. "Always worth checking, though, isn't it?" He actually manages a lopsided grin, and Claire files it away.

*

Just as Claire steps away from Peter, Elle comes wandering onto the roof. "Hey, guys," she says.

Peter sees Claire hold back a sudden movement, but he doesn't bother. He grabs Elle's arm. "Where the hell have you been? And what's going on?"

"I'm almost out of makeup," Elle says softly. "It's the end of the world."

Peter looks at her, surprised. Then he realizes that it's a joke, and he's even more surprised. He honestly didn't think she was the kind of girl who could pull off laughing at death, but she's biting her lip a little and smiling with her sharp teeth and hooking her little finger toward him as if to say, _I broke a nail_. Peter relaxes. "I always thought if you had a makeup crisis, you'd be serious."

"I think that only happens in the movies," she says. "Which was the point. Of the joke." He watches her waver, hot-and-cold, on the edge between two moods. "I've never been to the movies with anyone," she says, but she's still smiling, so he guesses he's safe enough for now.

"I'll take you," Peter says, immediately regretting it. No matter how much he pities her, she's still the person that she is, the mad, broken little kitten who'll kill you as soon as make you a mixtape.

"I'll go with Claire," Elle says, and her eyes actually meet Peter's, clear and cool. She knows he doesn't like her.

"You probably like the same kinds of movies, anyway," Peter says, giving up.

Elle nods. "Explosions. Loud music. A little less real life, a little more Sixteen Candles."

Peter may never understand her. He turns to Claire, who is standing near the edge of the roof now, ignoring Elle. "Hey. Do you want to call your friends? You know, the other two girls?"

Claire turns around. "No. They're not a part of this. They fight crime, not psychopaths. I'm not putting them in harm's way." She squares her shoulders whenshe speaks, and her costume makes her look surprisingly imposing. Costume, however, isn't the right word, Peter decides. Costumes imply a disguise of some sort, and this outfits is practically screaming, "This is me, and you will listen."

He understands Elle's jealousy suddenly. "Elle," he says, "let's go find Adam and kick his ass."

*

When Hiro arrives, Elle leads them silently to an alley on the other side of the city, only a few taxi rides away. Claire keeps asking her how she knows where Adam is, but she doesn't say anything. She isn't going to give Claire and Peter the satisfaction of being right.

When they finally get there, Elle and Claire's taxi arriving a bit before the one that holds Peter and Hiro, Claire asks again. "Elle, did Adam ask you to work with him?"

Elle's head hurts. "Okay," she says, "I'm really sick of you asking me that. So." She lets a jet of lightning leave her fingertip, tearing through Claire's costume and skin.

Claire screams right on cue, a high, perfect sound that makes Elle want to put her hands over her ears. "Shit," she says, "could you be quiet?"

It doesn't matter, though, Peter is already running toward them. "Claire!"

"It's okay," Claire says, but she's clutching her stomach to hold important parts in, and Elle feels like she's going to be sick.

Peter whirls on Elle. "You're sick."

Elle laughs at the unintentional echo of her thoughts, as Claire's skin begins to knit back together. "I didn't kill her," she says. "You're not the only one with powers, Peter, or did you forget?"

He only hesitates a little. "I didn't forget. You need to stop this, right now."

She hears the _lines_ as though he's shouting from very far away. It's too late for Peter and Claire to say they're sorry, but they're not even trying to say it. They failed to read the script. It's funny, and she smiles.

*

Elle smiles like ice and lightning. "If you'd trusted me, maybe this wouldn't be happening."

She wouldn't have thought of something like that herself, though. She can't psychoanalyze herself, she never could, at least not _right_, and it sounds like she's parroting the lines, anyway.

"Who else, Elle?" Peter calls to her. "Who's been getting into your head?"

"No one but you, prince," she says, flashing him a perfect white smile.

In the background, Hiro is helping Claire to her feet.

Peter shakes his bangs out of his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

She purses her lips. "Too late," she says cheerfully.

Whatever it is, she's raising her hand like she's about to do some damage, and he needs to defuse this. He knows all about defusing things. "Elle, I'm _sorry_!"

"Ooh." She pouts. "Those three small words came way too late."

It sounds like a quotation, but Peter doesn't have a chance to wonder what it's from.

*

There are no films about electricity. A little jet of blue leaves her fingertip, headed straight for the back of Peter's head.

*

"Peter!" Claire screams. It's classic, the way her hair is streaked with rain and the way her mouth opens in a perfect, pained o. Like something out of a movie, a bad drama. Elle loves movies like that, mostly because people expect her to. It's the same reason she'd kill herself over makeup but not quite the same reason she shoplifts. If she were playing it by the book, she'd only take little petty things like lipstick. She doesn't actually like wearing lipstick, so she steals bigger things, like expensive blouses and hair-straighteners and once a car (it was a red convertible and she gave it back).

No more following the rules or the script, though. She's going to burn the movie and the soundtrack and the sold-out theatre. _One fucker at a time_. Adam Monroe is a fucker if there ever was one.

Anyway. Something was happening. A death scene. Elle sort of likes being a movie bad-guy, because it's a role she's never gotten to play before, at least not properly. It was always Adam. She was just "misguided." This time, though, watching Claire bend over Peter's limp body and not kiss him, she isn't sure what she feels like.

*

And then Adam is there.

"Why?" Claire says. She's distantly aware that she's crying, but it doesn't really register. "Why did you do it?"

"For the money, dear," Adam says. "That's _always_ why I do it." He shrugs, and she can see in minute detail the way his hoodie moves over his shoulders. "And for revenge, of course. That's always a good one. You crippled me. Made me into a caged animal. Well, little Claire, a caged animal is a dangerous thing. I think the Petrelli brothers found that out a bit late."

"You can't die," Claire says slowly.

Adam frowns. "Yes, and? Come on, Claire, haven't you got anything else to say? Favor me with a comeback, at least. 'You'll never get away with this,' that sort of thing."

"You can't die," she says again. "What about with your power damper activated?"

Adam laughs. "You won't do that. You don't have the guts."

Claire has had a long day. She's had a long, bad, insane day, during which she has actually seen her guts, and she's pretty fucking sure she can press one little button.

There's a gentle click, and the blue light on the damper and on the device goes red. Claire looks at Hiro. "But I can't do the next part. I don't think it's mine to do."  
**  
**Hiro clenches his fist around the sword Claire realizes he's brought**.** "No. No, Claire. We are not executioners. This is not anyone's to do."

"Yeah, it is."

Claire and Hiro turn in surprise to see Matt standing there, gun leveled at Adam's chest.

"It's mine," Matt says. "Adam Monroe, you have the right to remain silent."

Claire doesn't cheer or smile or say anything at all. She just waits for Peter to wake up. There's nothing keeping him like this now that the lightning has crackled and died.

And he does. "Claire."

Claire flings herself on him, hugging him and sobbing. "Jesus, Peter."

Hiro picks up Peter's iPod Shuffle gently, as though he doesn't want it to get rained on. "You were right," he says, turning it over. "This is one of the special models I made for Adam."

"Thought so," Peter mutters. "Thanks, Nathan."

Matt glances at Peter in surprise. "I've never arrested a Congressman before. This'll be fun."

*

Elle looks at Claire. Her makeup is completely ruined, her hair isn't much better, and at this point, she has broken a nail. "We saved the world," she says to Claire. "The least you could do is buy me a soda."

*

So she does. She keeps buying Elle sodas (and good takeout food and new leggings and videotapes) for years after that. Neither one of them feels particularly inclined to move out, so eventually they're sort of married by default. Elle learns to do housework and Claire leans not to care when her laundry gets shrunk in the dryer. Both of them learn to tolerate most of the other one's quirks, just enough not to kill each other, or worse, give up and move out.

One day, two years after the end of the world, Elle is vacuuming when she says to Claire, "Hey, Claire-bear."

Claire looks up from the magazine she's trying to concentrate on. "Yeah?" She still hates the nickname, but at least now she likes to hate it. It feels good again.

"You've been staring at that magazine for like ten minutes. What's up?"

Claire cocks an eyebrow. "What's up with _you_? You're the one who's been all quiet. You didn't even finish your chicken nuggets at lunch today."

"Thanks, _Mom_," Elle says, rolling her eyes and enunciating like she's sixteen.

"You like chicken nuggets," Claire says.

"Fine, okay." Elle waves her hand a little frantically. "I've just been thinking. Do you think it's over?"

Even though it's been two years, Claire knows exactly what she's talking about. Even though it's been two years, Claire doesn't have an immediate answer. "It should be," she says. Adam and Nathan are locked up, Peter's moved out and on, Hiro won't cause trouble. Even Matt has been quiet lately. The pieces of the end of the world are scattered, and no one who remembers is going to try to put them back together again.

Elle laughs. It's the same old laugh, but Claire knows that these days, it just _sounds_ insane, a mirror of the real thing. "If our world played by the 'should be' rules, we'd be really different people, kiddo," she says. "So, what do you say? Think we're being set up for a sequel?"

Claire glares at her. "I hope not. Don't you think enough people have been hurt?" She's getting the idea, though. Elle is just playing, trying out a new game, because she's still Elle, after all. Things have been a little slow lately, and she wants to spice them up. The corner of Claire's mouth quirks and she slips into the fake conversation, into the role that will probably end with an exchange of slaps, and later, in bed. She gets ready to play grim and boring good-guy to Elle's nutty supervillain, which has a really great ring to it, and that's a classic, at least for them, and it's been a while since she's had out the handcuffs, and this, _this_ is Claire's life.

It's not a bad life.


End file.
